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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28390692">i can’t decide if i won (or if i was conquered)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tedusa/pseuds/tedusa'>tedusa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The fucks and downs of Harley and Ivy [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DC Extended Universe, Harley Quinn (Cartoon 2019), Harley Quinn (Comics), dc com</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Harley Quinn (Cartoon 2019) Season/Series 02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:54:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,740</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28390692</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tedusa/pseuds/tedusa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know what Harley is going to say. She’s going to tell you that you’ve already spoken, and you had. She is going to worry that your heart isn’t in it, even though it is. You have to fucking chill out. You have to make sure she isn’t terrified off the bat, it wouldn’t be fair. "</p><p>post s2 of harley quinn animated series  ~feelings (and yknow sex)<br/>(part of my 'The Fucks and Downs of Harley and Ivy' oneshot series but can be read alone)<br/>aka i still have a lot i need this show to resolve and i'm impatient for season three<br/>(ivy 2nd person pov)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Pamela Isley &amp; Harleen Quinzel, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The fucks and downs of Harley and Ivy [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813228</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>117</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i can’t decide if i won (or if i was conquered)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>- porn and feelings, ivy and harley are bi and in love<br/>- hope you all enjoy, i wrote this earlier in the year<br/>- if you are following my hsau, i've had a busy holiday period and that should be up soon, wanted to post something though and this has just been sitting around for ages<br/>- again this is really just frivolous gay feels with minor smut pls enjoy x</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You try to bury it, the guilt, but it is stubborn, always clawing its way back to the surface like some sort of Eldritch horror living inside you. Sometimes it comes at night, as you listen to the hum of your plants breathing as they sleep, to the ticking of the clock, to Harley mumble and snore as she lays fixed into your side. It is worse when it comes in the day, when the sun is bright and you least expect it. When you’re laying on the couch and she’s stroking your hair, or she’s running ahead blindly to knock a cop off his feet, or when you tell her you love her and you’re caught up in all the fucking time you wasted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hurts the most when she catches you drifting, mid dinner, mid fuck, mid sentence, and she just smiles, and runs a finger down your cheek like you didn’t almost ruin everything. There was nothing to do in those moments except hope she didn’t blame herself. You didn’t deserve that side of her, and yet it is the side only you see now. The side of Harley that makes you breakfast, that buys you Tylenol and brings snacks when you’re having a period crisis, that cries every single time the dog dies in a movie, that mourns her brother. Not even that purple panache piece of shit had seen those things; he had never wanted to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There had been times where you had loved her badly, where she had loved you messy and raw and ignorant, and you’d lay awake thinking about his rotten white hands against her. You were not perfect but at least you </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>love. You could love her, and life itself, and all the good green growth of Gaia’s Earth. And Harley? Harley always loved more than she hated, even if she’d deny it. No one had ever massacred a man in your presence quite like your Harley Quinn, and no one else was secretly sweeter in their murderous intentions.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You still feel so shaky, like a piece of elastic about to snap and fly away. She was a tether but your brain was a beast. Your life had never been uncomplicated, never simple or typical, not once, yet things felt stranger than they ever had. Not long ago you almost had a husband, a honeymoon, a whole ass suburban hellscape to return to afterwards; now you had a girlfriend. No, hardly typical at all. Things are good, change is necessary, no matter how fucking scared you can be. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the guilt is still there, and one day, it just smashes into you again as you watch her, and you fall cold back into your new reality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's a Thursday, and you’ve been back in Gotham for almost two months.  And it hadn’t been easy, Gordon and his hounds were sniffing around every corner. You had kept the pigs at bay though, they were useless and luckily, you were not the only assholes in the city. You were happy pushing him towards Dent and Psycho; small men wishing that the cops would reach them before you had a chance to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe you should have stayed away longer but you had done enough hiding. Still, you had cried for three nights when you got home, and Harley held you the whole time. This is Gotham and she is Harley, you had told yourself. You had made a commitment to face the bullshit together, you wouldn’t break another promise so quickly again, not one you truly meant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last time you had ran into the GCPD, Gordon had tried to interrupt you at dinner, bringing six armed officers with him. They had still ended up in the pond behind the restaurant, though it was a much brighter conclusion for the blue bloods of Gotham than what Harley had planned to do with him. He had yet to resurface, even though you had taken your reconstructed apartment back with (minor) violence, and revived the canopy of leaves that covered it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You are watching Harley sit on the edge of the kitchen counter, wearing nothing but a long t-shirt, and shovelling cereal into her mouth straight from a box into which she had poured her milk. Clay and King are with her, sitting at the table and listening far too intently as Harley explains in graphic detail how she plans to remove each of Gordan’s moustache hairs one by one. Two hyenas laying across the tiled floor at her feet. You smile as she bounces on the spot, every word exciting her, and you refrain from telling her that no tweezers in the world would survive that job. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s nice, being normal, if this is what normal is - </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal for Harley and Ivy</span>
  </em>
  <span> - yet you still can’t shake it. Harley doesn’t even know half of what you said and still you can see the stains all over yourself, like every bad thing you spoke about her, </span>
  <em>
    <span>about us, </span>
  </em>
  <span>was etched into your skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A stupid fling.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck, how had you even said that? You watch her, still knocking back cereal into her tunnel mouth, and you know that you would die for her. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> died for her. And yet, you still said all those things, shared those lies with someone you don’t know if you’ll ever even see again. There was no taking it back, and yet there was no burying it again either. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You know what Harley is going to say. She’s going to tell you that you’ve already spoken, and you had. She is going to worry that your heart isn’t in it, even though it is. You have to fucking chill out. You have to make sure she isn’t terrified off the bat, it wouldn’t be fair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have an idea,” you say, and the remains of the crew all turn to look at you. “Uh, can I just borrow you for a moment, Harls?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She jumps off the counter, throwing her spoon and box into your sink with no mind. The guys, if you could call them that, continue without Harley, as King begins to argue rather proficiently that they should simply eat the GCPD. Blonde and surprisingly bubbly for this early in the day, Harley joins you on the sofa and places a hand on your knee. It’s dumb and comforting and it makes you smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want me to get rid of them?” She says, wiggling her brow. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tempting.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kind of,” you reply, pulling her a little closer. “I need to get rid of you, too, though” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley screws up her nose. “Damn, we just got the apartment back. There is so much more light in the bedroom since the rebuild, I’m gonna miss it,” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Babe, don’t be ridiculous,” you poke at her in jest, swallowing, swallowing, swallowing the guilt that tries to rise its way to the surface. “You have to come back later, we have plans,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what are these plans?” The hand on your knee begins to move a little higher. Her </span>
  <span>incessance is both</span>
  <span> flattering and deadly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Plans I cannot execute if you are here distracting me,” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hand stops its upward movement and comes to rest on your own. “Sexy plans, at least?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You smile and kiss her temple. “Perhaps,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, so where am I going? And can I take the car?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You can take </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> car,” you reply. “But please let there still be a car when you return. And go wherever, Harls, just don’t let that pig shit catch you,” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh, let the bastard try,” she gets an inspired sparkle in her eyes, and for a moment you’re genuinely a little worried that the sky might fill with parademons once again. Then she jumps up, ready to do exactly as you have asked because she’s Harley and she trusts you </span>
  <em>
    <span>and she’s perfect. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once they have left, you find yourself panic striding around the house, feeding the plants that call out to you as you go. When you do finally leave the apartment too, you curse when you remember you let Harley take your car. So you walk, and then you're reminded of the speedy travel of kites, and then you wonder what Chuck is doing. You hadn’t heard anything from him, and you didnt want to, and still the guilt comes, all of the fucking guilt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The shops are full of assholes and you’re glad you wore a hat to hide beneath. You find something for Harley to wear, if she wants it, almost instantly. She looks annoyingly good in all things, from the clown to the collegiate, from classy Stepford vibes to local truck stop drunk, Harley somehow managed to rock anything she put on. She would definitely look good in the black slip you hold, lined with red sequins. It was the kind of dress you were meant to find.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dressing yourself is harder. Which isn't fair because you’re hot, and there is really nothing justifiably bad with any of the outfits you try on. You simply hate yourself when you look in the mirror. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is why you have to talk to her, bottling this shit up is why Jim Gordon’s fake clerical collar and small dick are the only reason you aren’t in the middle of a pissing divorce right now. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You keep telling yourself that, that you would have left anyway, even if the wedding hadn’t gone to shit. That as you had your first dance, as you cut your cake, as you left on your honeymoon, you would have seen Harley’s face in your mind and fucking stopped it. You would have stopped it, </span>
  <em>
    <span>right?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The girl at the desk watches you try on five different dresses and leave with none. You pay for Harley’s and disappear as soon as you can, stopping only at the Chinese market for dinner pieces on the way home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two hyenas greet you on your return and you’re impressed at how undestroyed your domain is. You had gotten into the habit of leaving them in the bedroom when you left the apartment but a scattered brain had failed you. They are happy for the dead animal you bring them, even if they can’t appreciate how much suffering it took for you to walk home with it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You cook to the sounds of Natalie Merchant and snoring wild beasts. You cook, and rehearse, and drink red wine, and rehearse some more. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why the fuck are you rehearsing, Pam? It’s only Harley. Your Harley. Only a conversation. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You drink more red wine and fix the rest of your ridiculous plan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” she says, with genuine surprise as she swings the door open wide. “Woah, Ive,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you like it?” You ask, suddenly feeling like an exposed wire ready to jolt anyone close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You let it wash over you, you are safe here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley throws a duffel bag onto the floor and crosses the room to you. There is definitely blood on her leg but you say nothing. Her lips come warm and fast and you welcome them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is crazy beautiful, wow</span>
  <em>
    <span> you’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>crazy beautiful” her eyes study you, and then the room, taking in the candles, the excess roses and lilies and begonias, the table for two set centre in the middle of the room. You had pushed all the furniture to the corners, or at least, the vines had. Within the low red glow of the room, she stood out like the moon, a goddess of old, the tealights the stars come to worship her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cheesy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Definitely,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not too much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley scoffed. “Woman, please, I am Ms Too Much,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You raise an eyebrow and smirk in agreement, and she kisses you again with a finger beneath your chin and a smile on her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good day?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Mm,” is her only reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so in the bedroom I left you something to wear. You don’t have to, but you know,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And my boys?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Asleep in the bedroom, brought them half a goat so I could have you to myself tonight. Even made Frank’s new pot guy come pick him up,” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiles, slinking into your side leaning up to kiss your cheek. “Okay, well then I’m gonna throw on what you got so you can have fun tearing it off me later,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You liked cooking for Harley. Really, she was the only person you did ever cook properly for. It had been a lot of one-pots and takeout with Chuck. His things that you had gotten really good at pretending were your things too. Harley would eat whatever you put in front of her, every vegan alternative she would otherwise not touch simply because you had made it. Well, she’d eat half of it and then raid the cupboard for snack. She never faked it but she would always try.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is still a surrealness to it, that you can sit and have dinner with Harley</span>
  <em>
    <span>,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and not feel like the air in your lungs is abandoning you. How many times for how many years had you let yourself think of this possibility? </span>
  <em>
    <span>All too many and never enough. </span>
  </em>
  <span>So much time and neither you or her had known what to do with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you thinking about?” Harley asks, finishing a mouthful of her noodles. A hand comes across the table again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You,” you say without thinking, and she smiles wide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You smile back but you know you wanted to have dinner for a reason. “I love you,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No ‘but’, babe - there are just som-,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it too soon? I know I shouldn’t have push-“ she trails off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pushed what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This,” she says, her face whiter than usual. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Us.</span>
  </em>
  <span> After the wedding, I shoulda let you have some time to breathe,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harls, you’re the one who needs to breathe right now,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She listens, and breathes deep, and her face begins to soften. “Sorry, it's just, yeah. I love you, too,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to talk, okay? That’s all, I know we spoke </span>
  <em>
    <span>after</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and we’ve been honeymooning a bit,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bad choice of words”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair,” you raise an eyebrow and smile; she squeezes your hand in reply. “I need to say some things. Not bad, I have just got to get something off my chest. Off my chest some more,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” she says. “But it if you make me sad, you’re gonna have to cheer me up afterwards,” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You have an idea, a flash of inspiration, and you pull yourself from your seat and stretch a hand out towards her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She takes it and with one swoop, you pull her in. Flicking your hand, and showing it where you need it, a vine grows from the wall and presses on your speaker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we dancing now?” Harley asks, leaning into your neck, a hand on your hip. “That’s pretty cheesy,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” you tease. “I know you love it, and it’ll make this easier, maybe,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You sway for a moment, as Billie Holliday sings, and you remember how nice it is to feel safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you hadn’t gone to all the effort of dinner, I’d be worried you were gonna leave me,” she whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Never</span>
  </em>
  <span>,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” she says. “No one has ever done anything like this before for me, not once, not like they meant it,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes you sad, that so few see what you see, and it twists you inward. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How long had it taken me? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You deserve things like this, you always have, even if you’re weird,” it helps break the solemn pace, and she jabs you in your side. Then she looks at you, serious and beautiful and porcelain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you, don’t have to feel so fucking guilty all the time,” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It shocks you, and you know you’re probably showing it. “But I do, I feel terrible for- for just dragging it all out,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley kisses you; she kisses your lips and your cheek and your nose and the nape of your neck. “I know you do. So do I,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what?” You shake your head. “For Joker? You don’t have t-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel bad,” she cuts you off. “For not seeing you,” her head comes back to your shoulder, and you begin to sway again. “It’s just shit, yknow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I do” you mutter into her hair. “You didn’t also marry someone though,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulls back once more, her eyes wide and always forgiving. “I would’ve though, in a second, like the clown I am. Look, come here,” she takes you to the sofa, pushed against the wall, and you sit with an arm around her. “Tell me okay, tell me it all and we, you and I, we can deal with it, okay? Your feelings cannot be worse than an entire army of parademons,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was right, you were being ridiculous. You had her now, and there was no hiding, no Chuck to have to look in the eye, no reason to always feel so fucking fragile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said things, and I know you know that, and I know that you probably do not want to hear them again but Harley, I didn’t just say them to you and I was so fucking wrong, so fucked up,” your faces are close, and she keeps your hair from your eyes as you speak. Always the shrink, Harley simply listens. “This isn’t a mistake, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugs. “I know, Ive, I suggested it,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to try to make me laugh,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, again, clown, duh. And you do it, too”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, there is no one like her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” you say, and you take her face in your hand and look into it with all the truth and trust you can muster. “I’m sorry that I said that you were crazy,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley pouted, an unconscious quiver. “I mean, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> crazy,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not like that,” </span>
  <em>
    <span>and not even. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Harley had slowly become the only sane person you knew anymore. “I’m sorry, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,“ she whispers. “Me too,” she pulls you in so your head is against her chest and looks down at you. “We deserve to be us - like you said, ‘Harley and Ivy.’ Us without them,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You could agree with that. The world could go hang. “Us without them,” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you don’t have to be so scared anymore, Ive, not even in secret,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You nod, losing all sense of reason as she speaks, and reach to close the space between you. You kiss her now, hard and hard and harder, and before you know if she has you flipped and straddled. Her hands are fast and warm, pulling gently at the zip on your side. “Fuck me,” she whispers. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Show me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she means.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You don’t need to be told twice. You flip her onto her back into the sofa, lowering her with your arm and she giggles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just remember you asked for it,” you tease, gentle in every way but words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kissing her felt unlike kissing anyone else, like you were a teenager again and were discovering it all for the first time. Both of your dresses were on the floor and you had barely even registered it. You kissed her neck and shuddered every time she moaned, pressing your palm flat between her legs, daring her to buck up against you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her shoulders, her collarbones, her breasts, you kiss every inch of her, her stomach, her hips, the edge of the black lace underwear she wore that covered so little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You move lower and lower and then come back up to kiss her, a hand still between her legs. She kisses back and moans at your neck as you begin to move your fingers against her, inside of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at me,” she gasps, and she brings you nose to nose, moving her hands to your hair. You work a slow rhythm, at first, admiring the moans that creep out of her in time with every thrust of your wrist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One finger, two fingers, three fingers, you move against her deep, and she bites and scraps at your neck, her own fingers moving from your head down your back. Red and black nails tearing gentle, red and black, into your skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wraps around you and you want nothing more than to be caught in her web. You want to be as close to her as two people could be. A scream, a whimper, she comes in waves as you kiss her hard, as she bites your lip bloody.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley doesn’t let you catch your breath, and makes no indication she needs to catch hers, as a hand grabs gracelessly at your breast. She kisses fast and hard down your body, not flipping you over, but pushing you up so she can crawl beneath you; your thighs locking around her face as you steady yourself on the arm of the sofa. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck, babe,’ you croak, in a desperate anticipation, not that she can hear you with your legs wrapping around her head. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuc-‘ you trail off when her mouth meets you and she claws her fingers deep into your hips. Her rhythm is near-perfect, and her angle even better, and your upholstery suffers as you grip it violently. You forget yourself - you forget yourself the way you only ever do with her. You love her wild as she fucks you wilder, as she kisses you in places so rarely visited. As Harley, animal and attentive, pulls you down to ride her until you, too, are coming with an unmuffled scream. She doesn’t let you go until your throat is raw and your legs are shaking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You end up in a pile of sex and sweat, Harley beneath you on the sofa, your head on her bare chest. No air left in the room or your lungs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are very,” you try to muster a sentence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley places a kiss to the edge of your temple. “Good in bed?” She laughs and you join in, breathless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was going to say distracting but that’ll do,” you put your hand to her face, and she rolls into it. You watch her for a moment, as she breathes. You study the soft curve of her nose, the pink swell in her cheeks, the long eyelashes like a forest watching over the ocean within her eyes. Sometimes, it is hard not to wonder if there is just too much love now, and not enough Harley to give it to. As if you had saved it all up over the years, over all the nights you hadn’t been together, over all the nights you didn’t act on it. A lifetime of love and loneliness balanced upon the back of one small jester. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley looks at you and pouts, asking you to come closer. You reach up and kiss her. You kiss her with urgency, you kiss her like your back at the pit, and you just let yourself fucking feel it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Immeasurable moments seem to pass as you make out hot and heavy, only stopping when Harley pulls away gently muttering an ‘okay, sorry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what?” you ask, faces still close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Distracting ya again,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You weren’t complaining. Was it a distraction, really? Or communication of a different kind?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I ask you something?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” she says softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, like, two things,” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you have to,” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You stroke her hair, taking a deep breath and trusting that you won’t slip. “Do you - do you trust that I would have left?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley bits her lip but never looks away. “Does it matter?” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you want to say but you understand why she said it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just, I loved you for so long. For so long and you never noticed,” you had never said it. Not to her, and hardly to yourself. Harley was brave. “The idea that I left you feeli-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ive,” her voice is stern. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she smiles but it doesn’t hold. “Sorry that I don’t wanna talk, that I don’t want to linger,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You shake your head, and nestle in beneath her neck. “I linger too much and we both know it,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess, it's like, now I have you-,” she sighs and you hear it deep within her chest. “What if I say the wrong thing and fuck it all up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is what you try to avoid, the terror that seeps in that you’ll leave. You know that feeling, and it burns to know that through your own failings, she is the one that is now worried you’ll disappear in the night. Harley had let it all go for you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are so important to me, Harley,”</span>
  <em>
    <span> and you are not the one at risk of fucking this up</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Like, it is honestly ridiculous how much I love you in comparison to how much I despise every other shit sack on this planet,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley smiles. “A curse of some kind, some sort of love potion Meta we haven’t heard of yet has screwed ya over,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You run a finger down across her shoulder, drawing lines down her collarbone over old scars. “Perhaps,” you say. “Or maybe this is it, you know - you and I. Perhaps we finally came to our senses,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Us without them,” she reminds you. “Second question less depressing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you my girlfriend?” It sounds childish as you say it, but freeing all the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley nods, ruffling your hair with her chin as she does. “I fuckin’ hope so. My ma would be so happy to see I finally landed a doctor,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” you scoff. “Until she realises I’m a woman. Fuck your mom,” you come back up to her eye level, cupping her face again. “Fuck anyone who isn’t us,” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck ‘em,” she agrees. “This is our life, right? No one to blame but ourselves?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” you agree, and looking at her, you realise all the panic has subsided, the anxiety of hours before gone as quickly as it had come. Maybe you would drift again, maybe it would return when you were least expecting it, but for now the guilt had fucking left. There was only peace and safety and fresh plants and your favourite, </span>
  <em>
    <span>your only</span>
  </em>
  <span>, person. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is our life and Harley is home.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Harley is home and belonging and the long awaited stripping away of your shame. You kiss her softly and quickly. “Thank you for letting me talk,” she would never know how much it helped, how you were beginning to wear her reassurance like armour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she says. “For being my best friend, and my girlfriend,” Harley comes to your ear, your spine shivers. “But I’m fucking freezing now though, babe,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You roll your eyes, a laugh escaping, and have a vine launch a blanket at you, before pulling it around you both. “Better?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, are you gonna tell me about the blood?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She raises an eyebrow. “Would you believe me if I said laser tag with Shark?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You raise your brow in return. “Harley </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>Quinn,” you poke at her hips. “What did you do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okaaay-“ she squirms with a giggle. “I just scaled a wall, a small one,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep, there we go,” you say, letting. “Not that I want to know, but-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a secret,” she says. “You gotta trust me,” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You do. You will,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” you say, moving back into her arms beneath the blanket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I ask you a question, </span>
  <em>
    <span>girlfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You want to kiss her for that, grab her and start all over again; you simply nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long?” Harley asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you love me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I guess a long time,” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley strokes your arm. “Yeah, but like, since when?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You didn’t necessarily want to admit that you could pinpoint the exact moment you had fallen for her, that you had thought about it enough recently to figure that out, but she was asking. And you weren’t running anymore. “The flower, I think, ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was pretty romantic of me,” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” you say, poking her in the side once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’re both laughing, you’re both being, and there is nowhere else you would want to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That flower had meant more than words could ever explain; everything was different afterwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, that I didn’t see it, ‘til it was too late,” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You move to look at her, taking your hand and laying it against her face. “Not too late,” you move in to kiss her cheek. “We’re still hot, and young, and terrible,” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And hopelessly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>embarrassingly</span>
  </em>
  <span>, limitlessly in love with each other. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
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